


What Are You Willing To Lose

by BlaiddGwyn (dragonLeighs)



Series: Jaskier Whump Week [5]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, Blood and Torture, Broken Bones, Eskel and Lambert save the day, Fever, Gen, Graphic Description of Injury, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Infection, Injured Jaskier | Dandelion, Interrogation, Jaskier Whump Week (The Witcher), Jaskier has a bad time, Jaskier is a BAMF for making it through the stuff I put him through in this, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Nilfgaard, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:33:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25596583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonLeighs/pseuds/BlaiddGwyn
Summary: Geralt and Jaskier are captured by Nilfgaard. Knowing Geralt won't give up Princess Cirilla easily, they use his bard against him. Jaskier endures days of torture, refusing to let Geralt give up Ciri to end his own pain.Written for Day 5 of Jaskier whump week. Prompt: Sacrifices
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Jaskier Whump Week [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1847923
Comments: 34
Kudos: 302
Collections: Jaskier Whump Week





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably the most brutal I've ever been to Jaskier.

Geralt had faced a lot of bad situations in his long life and this was certainly one of the worst. He and Jaskier had been heading for Kaer Morhen for the winter, planning on meeting up with Eskel and Lambert before making the climb up to the keep. Oxenfurt was no longer a safe place for the bard so Geralt had insisted he come with him this winter. On their way, they had stumbled across a band of Nilfgaardian soldiers while making their way through the forest. They hadn’t had a chance to run, swiftly being surrounded. Fighting back was useless as they were vastly outnumbered but that didn't stop them from trying.

They had gotten Jaskier first, a blow to his head sending him to the ground. Geralt hadn’t lasted much longer, having been overwhelmed and subdued. Now they were sitting in separate cells in some half-forgotten keep. His wrists had been bound in shackles lined with dimeritium. There was a chain fixed to the centre of the cell, keeping him away from the bars and walls like they were afraid he could tear them down with his bare hands. He wished he could but even his advanced mutations couldn't make that happen.

The witcher's main concern currently was that Jaskier still hadn’t woken up. He was lying on his side on the cold, damp stone floor, hands tied behind his back with coarse rope. If it weren’t for the visible movement of his breathing, he might be inclined to think him dead.

He knew of course why they had been captured. It was no secret Nilfgaard was after Ciri and that the two of them were linked by destiny. He knew that neither he or Jaskier would give Ciri's location up, no matter how bad things would get.

After an indeterminable time spent simply sitting and listening to their surroundings, Geralt heard heavy boots echoing down the hallway leading to their cells. A trio of soldiers entered through a door at the far end of the room, one of them stepping forward to address him. “You are the witcher, Geralt of Rivia, correct?” one of the soldiers asked. He appeared to be the one in charge.

“You already know who I am,” he growled back.

“Indeed. And this,” he said, indicating Jaskier, “is your bard.” Geralt didn’t deign to answer that. The leader turned to the other two behind him. “Wake him up.”

The soldiers unlocked the cell, one stepping in to loom above Jaskier.

“Leave him alone,” Geralt warned as the soldier delivered a swift kick to Jaskier’s stomach, causing the bard to jolt awake, gasping for air. He tried to curl in on himself despite his bound hands.

“We were very fortunate you two were found together. You see, we know it would be almost impossible to extract information from you. Our more… traditional methods won’t work on you. However, we know you’re not as emotionless as the legends claim your kind are. We know you won’t let an innocent suffer, especially not someone you know.”

“Leave him out of this."

“No, he’s your bard. Which makes him useful. We can get you to talk by hurting him.” The leader gave a small smile, seeming to enjoy causing suffering.

To punctuate his point, the second soldier had a go at kicking Jaskier, this time hitting his back. The bard reflexively tried to arch his back away but with his wrists bound, he couldn’t move very far. Geralt clenched his fists, straining against his own chains, hoping to break them with his fury.

“Don’t tell them,” he heard Jaskier wheeze once he’d managed to take in a breath.

“We will break you witcher. He’ll be begging you to give up Cirilla when we’re done with him,” the leader sneered.

One soldier left the cell to retrieve a rickety looking chair. The two of them yanked Jaskier off the floor and forced him into the chair, tying him to it to keep him from moving. At this point, he was fully awake and mostly recovered from the kick to the gut. He fought against their rough hands but ultimately lost and he was restrained.

“You can of course take the easy way out now witcher and tell us where the princess is.”

“Go to hell,” he spat.

A swift blow was dealt to the bard’s face, whipping his head to the side and making him see stars. He tried to shake away the disorientation, but another fist collided with his nose. He felt it break, hot blood already running down his face.

“Well witcher?”

Geralt remained silent. He knew he wouldn’t give up Ciri, and Jaskier would rather die before giving up the poor girl. She’d already been through so much just to get to Geralt. She deserved to be safe with Yennefer and the other witchers.

The next hour passed in much the same way. The soldiers were relentless, hitting Jaskier in the face and chest over and over until he was barely conscious. Eventually he felt his arms being freed from the chair before he was shoved to the ground. Anticipating another beating he curled up as much as was possible with his bound wrists.

He felt like he was drifting, losing the battle with consciousness. Only Geralt’s voice brought him back. “They’re gone for now Jaskier.”

Hesitantly Jaskier uncurled from his ball, mindful of his injuries. Breathing was hard with his broken nose and bruised ribs. He didn’t think they had broken anything beside his nose thankfully but he knew it was only a matter of time.

“Jaskier I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. I should’ve been more careful.”

“’S not your fault,” he wheezed. “Couldn’t’ve known. We just gotta protect Ciri.” He wished he had the strength to roll over and look at Geralt. He wanted the reassurance of a friendly face and to also let him know he didn’t blame him. Instead, he lay on the cold stone floor in a puddle of his own blood and concentrated on taking shallow breaths. He could hear Geralt pacing somewhere behind him, the chain clinking with each step.

“How bad is it?” he heard eventually, pulling him out of the semi-conscious state he had fallen into.

“Hurts to breath. Nose broken. Ribs bruised.”

“Hmm. They’ll be back later no doubt. Try to get some rest.”

Jaskier only hummed in response to that and closed his eyes. Despite the pain it was easy enough to let himself drift away from the cold and pain and into a fitful sleep.

Jaskier was jolted awake by the sound of his name being called by Geralt as the the door leading to their cells was opened. He had no idea how long he had been asleep. His arms were numb, the muscles strained from the unnatural position. He tried with moderate success to get himself upright, his ribs protesting at the movement. A glance behind him revealed Geralt was already standing as close to Jaskier as he could get, chain taut and shackles digging into his skin.

The door to his cell was unlocked and two different soldiers from before walked in. The leader was absent, likely having something better to do than watch a bound man being beaten up. One soldier roughly grabbed Jaskier and hauled him to his feet. Jaskier couldn’t help the pained cry that escaped when the movement caused pain to flare in his abused muscles.

The rope was removed from his wrists before he was tied to the chair again. His wrists were tied to the arms of the chair this time, the coarse rope tied tighter than before, cutting into his skin.

“Tell us where princess Cirilla is,” one of them demanded.

Neither prisoner said a word. The soldier took Jaskier’s left little finger and bent it back, not enough to break but enough to hurt. Jaskier tried to supress his panic. It would do him no good to fight against him. Without the use of his hands, he wouldn't be able to play his lute. There was the risk that the bones may never heal properly and he would be out of a job but Ciri was more important. He said nothing.

“Don’t,” Geralt said from the other cell.

The guard grinned, an ugly thing. “Then tell us what we want to know and the bard can play another day.”

“Fuck off,” Jaskier said. The guard pulled his finger back viciously. There was the audible snap of bone and a near blinding pain. Jaskier couldn’t help but scream.

The two guards laughed as he writhed against the rope. “Tell us where she is, or we’ll break the rest.”

“Never.”

As promised, they systematically broke the fingers of his left hand one by one, asking each time where Ciri was. Each time Jaskier screamed but remained defiant. Tears streamed down his face. Geralt yelled and shouted abuse at the guards but was helpless to stop them. The dimeritium prevented him from using his witcher signs. Axii could have allowed him to convince the guards to release him. Ingi could have burnt the wooden frames of the cells. Aard might have been enough to blast the bars away altogether. Instead he was forced to watch as Jaskier lost one of the most important things to him.

After his left hand they moved to his right. Starting at his little finger again, the bones were broken one by one each time they refused to speak. Only once all of Jaskier’s fingers were broken did they finally leave, laughing between themselves. They left Jaskier still tied up and shaking from the pain.

Geralt tried his best to give comfort to the bard, assuring him Yennefer would be able to fix his hands when they eventually got out. He actually didn’t know if she could but right now it was what Jaskier needed to hear so that’s what he said along with other words he hoped were reassuring.

After a while the shaking died down and he managed to get his breathing under control. “Geralt,” he said after a while, turning his head so he could look the wither in the eye. “No matter what, you can’t give Ciri’s away. You know I would die before doing so. Don’t let them get to you. I can take it.”

“You shouldn’t have to though. You never signed up for any of this.”

“I did though. When I decided to follow you back in Posada. I knew the Path wouldn’t be easy. Even after the mountain when we found each other again and I knew you and Ciri were being chased across the continent, I still chose to follow you.”

Geralt only answered that with a hum.

The next few days were much of the same. Two or three guards would come into Jaskier’s cell, demand Ciri’s location and begin torturing the bard in some way when neither said a word. Each day seemed to bring something new. One day it was knives, scoring lines across his bruised skin, positioned to cause the maximum pain for the least amount of damage. After all, it would be no good if their leverage bled out and died. Another day they tied his wrists and strung him up to the ceiling, stripping him of his chemise and whipping his exposed back. Afterward, they left him like that for hours until he struggled to draw breath and Geralt had had to shout for them to untie him.

After what was probably the third day, soldiers would come into his cell to beat him, only occasionally asking about Ciri. Geralt suspected they were just bored soldiers, not part of “official proceedings” as he’d heard the leader call this whole thing at some point.

Still, he threatened anyone who came after Jaskier, managing to dissuade a small number of their ranks. It wasn’t much but Geralt counted it as a small victory. Less pain Jaskier would have to endure.

They were only given a small cup of water and stale food twice a day. Geralt had insisted Jaskier have his but the stubborn bard refused, saying Geralt would need to keep his strength up if they ever hoped to get out.

Salvation came almost two weeks after they had first been captured. Geralt had been keeping an ear out for the sound of approaching soldiers as Jaskier slept. There was little he could do if anyone came in but he could at least give Jaskier some warning rather than being woken by a boot to his now broken ribs.

He heard the sound of the soldiers running past the locked door, shouted orders echoing down the stone passageway beyond. It was enough to wake the bard, groggily peeling an eye open. He hadn’t the strength to sit up so simply lay on the blood stained stone, watching Geralt’s face for a sense of what was going on.

The sound of boots faded but the shouting continued as the soldiers moved away from their prison. Geralt knew something was happening. After a few minutes he heard the distinctive clang of swords clashing. Someone was here and they certainly weren’t friends with Nilfgaard. The sounds of fighting gradually became louder as they approached. It seemed whoever had invaded the keep was winning. His medallion hummed as he felt the ground shake. A magic user no doubt as there wasn't the boom of an explosion.

Geralt didn’t have to wait long before the fight finally ended. He heard swords being sheathed before two sets of boots approached the door. They tried to push it open but of course it was locked. Someone mumbled something but he couldn’t make it out. Suddenly the door was blasted off its hinges with a flash fo blue. Aard. Geralt threw up an arm to shield his eyes from the splinters and dust kicked up by the sign. He looked toward the now open doorway to see Eskel peering in.

“Geralt!” came the familiar voice. Eskel entered the room, swiftly followed by Lambert.

“Eskel, Lambert. How did you find us?”

“When you didn’t show last week, we assumed something had happened. Came looking for you and found some Nilfgaardians bragging about capturing the white wolf,” Eskel explained as he looked for the key to his cell. He couldn’t use aard without seriously hurting Geralt.

Lambert had remained uncharacteristically quiet. Geralt glanced over to him to find him staring down at Jaskier, gripping the bars of the neighbouring cell tight enough to turn his knuckles white.

“Lambert?” Geralt said.

“Should’ve made those bastards suffer,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Is that- Oh gods, Jaskier?” Eskel said, horror dawning on his face as he finally took in the beaten and bloody bard lying on the floor. He had passed out again at some point since the sounds of the fight had died down. He looked a sight, skin mottled with bruises of various colours and covered in blood, both old and new. His face was in a similar state. Both eyes were bruised black. There was some serious swelling around his right eye, forcing it closed. That, in combination with his broken nose, was enough to make him almost unrecognisable at a glance beneath the blood staining his skin.

“He needs help quickly," Geralt stated, trying to snap his brothers into action.

Both Lambert and Eskel went searching for the keys, going back to the passageway to search the bodies. Eventually he heard a triumphant cry from Lambert before the two other witchers hurried back into the room.

They got Jaskier free first, Eskel unlocking the door before handing the keys to Lambert so he could free Geralt. Geralt paid little attention to what Lambert was doing as he tried to get the dimeritium shackles off, watching as Eskel carefully picked Jaskier up, trying to avoid as many injuries as was possible.

Geralt felt a sudden itch across his skin as the shackles fell away. His skin was rubbed raw and was bleeding in a few places but it was nothing compared to what Jaskier had faced. Without a word the three of them made their way outside. “We should get away from here as soon as possible. Don’t know if any more of those bastards will show up,” Eskel said, already heading for the trees where they had left their horses.

“Go ahead. I’m going to find Roach.”

Eskel nodded once before disappearing into the trees, swiftly followed by Lambert. Geralt headed to the stables. Sure enough, he found his mare in a stall at the far end of the stables. She tossed her head as he approached, annoyed at being kept by strangers. Her tack was hung up nearby and he quickly saddled her up. He had no idea where their bags had gone along with his swords and Jaskier's elven lute, but there was no time to go searching for them. Maybe he could come back once he was sure Jaskier was safe.

He led Roach out before climbing into the saddle, following the scent of his brothers into the forest. He found them after a few minutes of riding. A small fire had been started with Jaskier lying beside it. Eskel was carefully cleaning the worst of the blood away, revealing the many wounds littering the bard’s body. Lambert was nowhere to be seen.

Geralt knelt on the bard's other side. He grabbed a second rag and wetted it in the already pink water, carefully beginning to clean Jaskier's abused skin. He methodically worked down his arm, revealing the extent of the dark bruises and shallow cuts. He eventually came to cleaning his hands. His fingers were swollen and bent at slight angles. It was hard to see how he could recover from this. Geralt couldn’t imagine him not playing his lute again.

He hadn’t realised Eskel had been staring at him until he spoke, jolting him out of his thoughts. “His fingers… Will he play again?”

“I don’t know.”

Lambert came crashing into the dim glow of their camp some time after the sun had set, lacking his usual stealth. The worst of Jaskier’s wounds had been bandaged and he’d been dressed in a spare shirt of Eskel’s. He hadn’t stirred once since their escape. “Where’ve you been?”

“Hunting,” the younger witcher replied, dropping a few hares by the fire. “Needed to take my anger out.”

Geralt could understand that. The youngest witcher wasn’t the best at healing by any means and having an angry Lambert pacing around the camp and yelling wouldn’t do any of them any good. He sat by his brother and helped him prepare the hares, skinning them before handing them over to Lambert.

The three witchers were silent as they waited for the food to cook. There was a small groan from the bard where he lay and Geralt was up and by his side instantly. “Jaskier?”

“Ger-?” he murmured, his good eye barely opening.

“It’s me. We’re safe now. Eskel and Lambert came and found us.”

Jaskier tiredly nodded. He was about to fall asleep again but Geralt wanted him awake so he could eat. “Food’s gonna be ready in a few minutes. You need to keep your strength up.”

“Help me up?”

Carefully Geralt helped him to sit up, moving to sit behind him so the bard was between his legs and leaning against Geralt’s chest. He had no strength to keep himself upright without assistance. He blearily looked around their small camp, noticing the two other witchers sitting by the fire and watching him intently.

“Lambert, Eskel. I hear it’s you who I have to thank for the rescue.” His voice was weak and raspy but he still managed to convey his gratitude.

Lambert couldn’t look him in the eye, no doubt misplaced guilt eating him up. Eskel inclined his head at the bard. “I’m sorry we didn’t come for you sooner.”

Jaskier shook his head. “It only matters that you came. Thank you.”

The camp fell silent after that, even after they had finished eating. Geralt had to help Jaskier as he could hardly hold anything, let alone feed himself. He had tried to resist at first, wanting to hold on to any remaining shred of dignity he might have but soon gave up, aided by encouraging words from Eskel.

He fell into a deep sleep not long after. Geralt was glad he was finally getting some decent rest instead of the fitful naps he’d been able to catch back in the cells. Geralt himself was also exhausted. He’d been keeping himself on high alert since their capture, only allowing himself a few hours of sleep every few days and meditating most of the time.

“Sleep, wolf. You need to rest too.” Eskel said, tossing a bedroll at him. “Lambert and I can keep watch.”

Geralt nodded. He would be no use if he continued in his current state. His brothers wouldn’t let any harm come to them while they slept. He unrolled the bedroll beside Jaskier and curled up inside. Compared to the cold stone of the cells, it was practically divine and he soon found himself falling asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eskel leaves to get help, Geralt takes care of Jaskier, Lambert reluctantly shows he cares.
> 
> Not much plot, hopefully the care you've all been waiting so long for (oops).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahjdfldsakjl Okay so I know it's been about 5 months but I finally got around to writing this chapter. Also, originally there was only going to be one more chapter but this fic has somewhat taken on a life of its own so I think it'll end up being around four chapters, maybe five. Depends how long the last one ends up being.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who read this fic when it first came out and for sticking with it, and also to new readers. I hope this chapter is worth the wait.
> 
> I still don't know when I'll have the next chapter written since I've got exams coming up, but hopefully it won't take five more months.

Geralt woke with a start. He bolted upright before glancing around, trying to get his bearings. The cells were gone, replaced by trees on all sides. The events of the previous day came back to him and he remembered his brothers coming to save them. Jaskier was lying nearby, still asleep. He could see the bard had bled through some of the bandages, staining his borrowed shirt a dull red on places. Eskel sat on the other side of their makeshift camp, feeding wood to the small fire to get it going again.

The other witcher was watching him as he got his thoughts in order. “Morning, Geralt,” he greeted.

“Morning. Where’s Lambert?” he asked.

Eskel nodded his head in the direction of their sleeping brother. “Told him to get some rest too. No need for both of up to be up at the same time.”

Geralt nodded absently, turning back to watch the bard. It didn’t seem as though he’d moved at all overnight, still lying on his back.

“Geralt, I…” Eskel began. Geralt looked back at him. He was clearly searching for the right words to say. “I don’t think he’ll make up to Kaer Morhen. The pass is difficult enough as it is. The snow has arrived in the mountains and he’s in no condition to travel.”

“What are you saying?" he growled. "That we leave him in some village and hope Nilfgaard doesn’t find him?” He tried but failed to tamp down his sudden anger at his brother’s words, clenching his teeth to stop himself from shouting and waking the others.

“No,” Eskel said calmly, holding up a hand to try and placate Geralt. “I’m just saying we’ll need to think of another way to get him to the keep.”

Geralt knew he was right. There was no way Jaskier would survive the journey. He released a sharp breath, letting at least some of his anger fade with it. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands in frustration, trying to come up with something. “Yennefer," he said eventually. "She’s the only one who can make a portal there.”

“We don’t know where she is though. She could already be at the keep.”

Geralt shook his head. “She planned to arrive with Ciri around the same time as us so we could all make the journey together. She’s been avoiding using portals in case Nilfgaard could track her. She may assume we’ve already left but she might still be at the village. If we’re fast we can catch her before she makes her own way.”

“Could work. Except Jaskier won’t be going anywhere fast,” Eskel said, his gaze falling on the sleeping bard. “I could go ahead by myself. Get her to come here and portal us to Kaer Morhen.”

Geralt nodded. “That could work. But you better leave soon.”

“I can go now. Just need to saddle up Scorpion.” With that he got to his feet and headed over to where the horses had been tethered. Within just a few minutes, Geralt watched as his brother rode off into the woods toward the road.

The sound of hoofbeats seemed to have finally woken the youngest witcher as he bolted upright and looked around frantically and reached for his sword, still half asleep.

“Relax Lambert. It was just Eskel.”

Lambert let out a huff of air as he rubbed the remnants of sleep from his eyes. “Where’s he going?”

“To get Yennefer to portal us up to Kaer Morhen.”

Lambert nodded his understanding, getting to his feet to join Geralt by the small fire. Although true winter was still a few weeks away, there was a distinct chill to the air, not enough to make the witchers feel cold, but a fire certainly helped.

Lambert pulled one of his packs toward him, rummaging around before pulling out half a loaf of bread that had definitely seen better days. He tore a chunk off, handing it to Geralt before ripping off a piece for himself. “Sorry it’s not much. Eskel and I weren’t exactly prepared to end up camping in the woods again just yet.” Geralt only shrugged before tearing off a chunk with his teeth. The bread was hard and dry, but it at least seemed free of mould.

Time passed by with the two witchers sitting by the small fire, Jaskier still sleeping nearby. Lambert asked what exactly had happened back in the cells. Geralt answered his questions. He told him how they had beaten him to near unconsciousness, how they had broken his fingers one by one, cut into his skin so that he screamed until his voice went hoarse. All while Geralt was powerless to do anything but talk to Jaskier when it was over, trying to bring him some comfort. As horrible as recounting events was, it felt somewhat cathartic, allowing him to accept they had escaped.

Eventually, Jaskier began to stir. Geralt was by his side in an instant, Lambert trailing after him, hovering just behind him, unsure if he could help.

“Geralt?” Jaskier croaked, cracking his left eye open to peer up at the white haired witcher, his right still too swollen to open.

“It’s me.”

“Please tell me this is real. We’re really out?”

“It’s real Jask. See, Lambert’s here,” he said, turning to look at his brother briefly, leaning to the side so that Jaskier could see him too. “He and Eskel got us out.”

Jaskier only nodded slightly, letting out a shaky sigh of relief.

“How do you feel?” Geralt asked.

“Hurts everywhere. My back… the whip…” Geralt understood what he was trying to say.

“Here,” he said as he carefully helped Jaskier sit up so that he was sitting sideways between Geralt’s legs and leaning with his shoulder against the witcher’s chest. It wasn’t the most comfortable position, but it kept the pressure off his back while also allowing Geralt to keep him upright since he still wasn’t steady enough to do so by himself. He was almost uncomfortably warm, heat seeping through the layers of cloth between them. He attributed it to the blankets he had been buried under, along with his proximity to the fire. Shoving it to the back of his mind for now, he asked “Is that better?”

“Yeah,” Jaskier replied tiredly.

“You should eat,” Lambert said, still awkwardly hovering nearby. Geralt turned to see he had retrieved a chunk of bread for the bard, along with a half filled waterskin. He handed them to Geralt, clearly uncomfortable but still wanting to help. Geralt thanked him before the younger witcher grabbed his crossbow and disappeared into the woods again, taking note of how tightly he was gripping the weapon.

“Where’s he going?” Jaskier mumbled.

“To blow off some steam, I’d say,” he said as he watched him leave. Turning back to Jaskier, he helped him take a sip from the waterskin. “He gets upset easily but tends to hide it behind anger. He’ll be back soon, hopefully with something we can cook later.”

Geralt tore a bite sized piece of bread off. Jaskier tried to hold it but with his broken fingers it was nearly impossible. “Jask, just let me alright?”

“I-I just…” he stammered, sounding close to tears.

“Listen to me,” he said gently, “I know it hurts, and not just physically. I know how important your hands are. I promise you; I will find a way to fix them. But for now, just let me help you with this.” He waited until Jaskier gave a slight nod of his head before holding out the bread for him.

It took a while but eventually Jaskier managed to eat all the bread Lambert had given him, as well as draining the waterskin. The younger witcher returned just as Geralt was helping Jaskier to get comfortable lying on his side. He seemed to have had a successful hunt, dropping a few hares by the fire before sitting heavily on a nearby log.

Geralt turned back to the bard. It didn’t take long for him to fall asleep again. Despite getting a full night of rest, his body was badly damaged and he needed all the help he could get. He lay a hand gently on his forehead, dismayed to find he was still warmer than usual, likely with the beginnings of a fever. His wounds must be infected. It was unsurprising really considering the dirty floor he’d been lying on for the past two weeks.

He knew he needed to clean the wounds again and change the bandages, which were more stained with blood than not. Unfortunately, they didn’t have any more supplies, nor did they have any medicines that could help. At least none beside witcher potions which would only make things worse for the human bard.

Geralt got up to sit beside his brother who was now staring into the fire, idly poking it with a stick. “I need you to do a favour for me,” he said. Lambert snapped his head to look at the older witcher.

“What is it?” he asked, somewhat suspicious.

“Relax. I just need you to watch Jaskier for a while. I’m going back to the keep to see if I can find our stuff.”

“Are you crazy? You don’t know if more Nilfgaardians have turned up since yesterday. What if you get caught again? Or lead them back here? I can’t do anything if I have to baby sit your bard while both you and Eskel are gone.”

“I’m not just going to go charging in Lambert,” he growled with annoyance. “If there’s people, there I’ll just come back. But I need my swords and I have bandages and medicine we can use for Jaskier.”

Lambert sighed, burying his face in one hand. “Alright, fine. I’ll watch your bard. Take my steel sword. Just in case.”

“Thank you.”

Geralt strapped Lambert’s sword to his back and got Roach ready in her tack. If he did find all their stuff, there was no way he’d be able to carry all of it back by himself in one trip. He rode at a much more sedate pace than yesterday, taking ten minutes or so to reach the treeline. He left his mare somewhere that she was still hidden from view before slowly creeping forward. There seemed to be no sign of anyone around thankfully, and after a few minutes of waiting he finally went inside.

Bodies littered the ground from where they had fallen to his brothers’ blades. Nilfgaard may have been able to capture one witcher, but he had been ambushed. Against two fully prepared witchers, they didn’t stand a chance.

He made his way down the main hallway, checking every room for any sign of his and Jaskier’s belongings. He knew there was no point in looking down in the dungeons, so he avoided it completely. He didn’t need to be reminded of the blood staining the stones rust red.

Eventually he came upon a room that looked like it was used for storage. It was mostly weapons, a few crates stacked against the walls, but tucked away at the back he spotted the familiar shape of a lute case. Sure enough, it was Jaskier’s, along with the rest of their things, including his swords. He quickly rummaged through them, checking everything seemed to be in place. Aside from their food, everything seemed to have been left alone. Slinging the swords and lute case over his shoulders, he gathered up the rest in his arms. It was precarious but he’d rather not make more than one trip inside this wretched keep.

Once back outside and beside Roach, he began securing everything in its rightful place. The lute case remained across his back as he led Roach back to their makeshift camp.

Lambert seemed as though he hadn’t moved when he returned, still sitting by the fire. He looked up as he heard them approach, prepared to reach for his silver sword which was now laying on the ground by his feet. He relaxed when he realised it was only Geralt.

“Was anyone around?”

“No,” was his only reply as he unloaded the packs from Roach. He removed her tack before tying her near Lambert’s horse. He searched through the pack that typically kept his potions and medical supplies, looking for the pouch containing the few human safe medicines he owned. He hoped never to have to use them but kept them just in case, wanting to be prepared.

He pulled it out, along with several clean bandages. He was reluctant to wake Jaskier but knew the longer he left him, the worse the infection would get.

“Is there a stream nearby?” he asked Lambert, intending to heat some water to clean Jaskier’s wounds.

“There’s one off that way,” he said, pointing vaguely in the right direction. Geralt didn't bother to suppress an eye roll and merely grunted a “thanks” before picking up the pot they usually used for cooking, making sure it was clean first. He needn’t have bothered really since Eskel had a habit of making sure his pot was immaculate, which Geralt had never really understood since it wasn’t like they could get sick from a slightly dirty pot. He was grateful for it now, however.

It didn’t take long to locate the stream, following the sound of flowing water. He filled the pot before splashing some water on his face. He hadn’t had a chance to properly clean himself since escaping and the cold water was shockingly refreshing on his skin. Feeling a little more like himself, he headed back.

“You didn’t fall in, did you?” Lambert asked with a smirk.

Geralt only glared at him as he set the pot above the fire to boil. Once it started bubbling, he took it off the fire and let it cool down before finally waking Jaskier.

“Huh? Wha’s goi’n on?” he mumbled, trying his best to wake up quickly.

“Sorry to wake you but I need to change your bandages.”

Jaskier only grunted but allowed Geralt to manoeuvre him upright like he had earlier. The witcher carefully stripped him of Eskel’s shirt and began unwinding the soiled bandages, pausing whenever Jaskier flinched, having to soak them where dried blood had adhered the fabric to his skin. Eventually they came away, though not without some of the scabs despite his best efforts, causing fresh blood to well up.

Beneath the bandages and blood, Jaskier’s skin was a macabre rainbow of black, purple, red and even some yellow and green from bruises in various states of healing. There was barely any of him free from the horrid discolouration. More worrying however were the numerous cuts, inflicted by the various methods the Nilfgaardians had used, drawing rivers of crimson from him, running down his body and drying sticky to his skin. They had managed to get the worst of the dirt and blood off the night before but it had been a somewhat rushed job.

He dipped a clean cloth in the now lukewarm water and began carefully wiping away the dried blood. He tried to avoid removing any more of the scabs over the cuts but inevitably some came away, causing blood to trickle down. Jaskier flinched at every touch of the cloth but for the most part remained silent, save for a few sharp hisses. Which was how Geralt knew how much pain he was really in since he complained about everything except when it really mattered.

Once he had washed Jaskier all over, he checked him over for any signs of infection. There were several areas on his back and a few on his side where he had been lying that were showing signs of infection. He asked Lambert if he could fetch some clean water so he could wash those areas again.

The younger witcher grumbled about it but did as he was told. He returned with an already warm pot of water. Geralt raised an eyebrow at him as he took the water. Lambert shrugged. “Blasted it with igni then filled the rest with cold. Thought I’d save you some time,” he said before sitting back on his log. Geralt had to admit, he hadn’t thought of that.

Dipping the cloth in the clean water, he returned his attention to the infected areas, making sure they were as clean as possible. Satisfied for now he’d done all he could without causing more damage, he opened one of the small jars containing a healing salve. The healer he had bought it from had told him it would help to numb pain and prevent infection. Hopefully it would work to put a stop to it before it took hold properly.

He gently spread a thin layer all over Jaskier’s abused skin, blocking out the way he kept trying to get away from his touch. He knew really it was only because of the pain but part of him kept whispering that it was because this was all his fault. If he’d just been faster maybe they would have avoided capture and they’d be safe in Kaer Morhen by now.

Finally, he rebandaged his torso and arms before helping him into one of his own clean shirts since the one he’d borrowed from Eskel was now stained. He didn’t think his brother would mind too much. It wasn’t like they didn’t get blood on their clothes on a somewhat regular basis.

“Thank you,” Jaskier mumbled when Geralt was done. His good eye was half closed from exhaustion and he looked about ready to pass out, but he seemed genuinely grateful.

“It’s nothing. Do you need anything? Water or food?”

“No,” he said with a slight shake of his head. “I’m just tired.”

With a “hmm,” Geralt helped him lie back on his side. It was probably hell on his broken ribs but Jaskier didn’t want to lie on his back, the pain of the whip marks outweighing the pain in his chest. “If you need help changing position, just let me know.” Geralt said, his tone leaving no room for argument, knowing Jaskier would ignore him otherwise and try and do it himself.

It didn’t take long for Jaskier to fall asleep again, his breathing, although shallower than usual, evened out quickly. Geralt packed away the salve and washcloth before tossing the soiled bandages in the fire. There would be no saving those. He picked up Eskel’s shirt and the pot, heading back to the stream to wash them. The pot was easy enough, but the shirt was another matter. In the end he settled for simply leaving it damp to try and lift most of the blood out before getting back to it later.

Lambert had prepared both hares for cooking by the time he returned, skewering them to roast above the fire. Geralt set the pot down before hanging the shirt over a branch. It wasn’t likely to dry any time soon in the chilly air.

Lambert cleared his throat before asking “How is he?”

“Several of his wounds are infected. Not surprising really, he’s been lying on the filthy ground with open wounds. I just hope I’ve managed to stop it before it gets any worse.”

“Shit,” Lambert said under his breath. “Do you think Yennefer would be able to help?”

“Maybe. Healing isn’t really her area, but she probably knows something that could help.”

“And his hands?”

Geralt shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said, barely above a whisper but loud enough for his fellow witcher to hear. “Treating infections is very different to mending bone.” He had avoided looking at Jaskier's hands, knowing the skin was in tact and not wanting to cause unnecessary pain by taking a look at the damage.

Silence fell heavily over their camp, both witchers lost in thought, hoping their brother would return soon with the mage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated!
> 
> Ngl it was a struggle trying to think of things Lambert could do in the background so that he wasn't just sitting there lmao.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eskel makes it to the village in time to meet Yennefer. Geralt has a difficult decision to make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank Ironically-anticlimactic on tumblr for helping me decide which direction to take this.
> 
> I'm gonna say here that it's taken Eskel a couple of days to get back to the village, just to make it clear that he's not ariving the same day he left the others in the last chapter.
> 
> You're gonna get sick of me repeatedly describing Jaskier's injuries every chapter since I'm doing it again lmao.

Yennefer and Ciri had arrived at the small village at the base of the mountains three days ago. The mage had been surprised to find no one else was here yet, having assumed at least one of the witchers would be by now. As the days passed, she became increasingly worried. She asked around and found out both Eskel and Lambert had been through but left before she had arrived. No one seemed to know if they had taken a contract or not, trying to make a little bit of extra money before heading up to Kaer Morhen. Everyone agreed that they had gone into the forest and not down the path leading up the mountain so she knew they would be returning eventually.

The afternoon of the third day brought news at last. She had been at the small market with Ciri, hoping to distract them both from the seemingly missing witchers and bard. The sound of rapid hoofbeats approaching the small village carried through the dirt streets, drawing the attention of everyone around. When the rider got close enough, she realised it was Eskel. Dropping the brooch she had been looking at back on the table, she hurried over to him, Ciri following close behind. “Eskel!” she called as he pulled Scorpion to a halt, the horse breathing hard. Wherever he had come from, he’d clearly been in a rush to get back here.

“Yennefer, thank the gods you’re still here,” he said as he dismounted.

“Why, what’s wrong? Where’s Lambert? I heard he was with you.”

"Lambert's fine." Eskel glanced around at the gathering crowd of villagers, curious to see who the new arrival was no doubt. “I'll explain, but not here.”

Yennefer gave a quick nod of her head. “See to your horse then meet me in the tavern.”

Ciri took her chance then to give Eskel a hug, wrapping her arms tightly around his middle. “We were worried about you,” she said, her words muffled by his shirt.

He wrapped one arm around her, placing his other on her head. “Hey, I’m fine. See,” he said, releasing her so she could pull away. “Go with Yen, I’ll be back in a few minutes.” She nodded before running to catch up with the mage.

Yennefer was sitting at a table near the back, mostly away from the day time crowd. She had taken the liberty of getting them all drinks, ale for herself and Eskel and water for Ciri, much to her disappointment.

The witcher joined them after a while, ignoring the glances thrown in his direction. He sat opposite Yennefer and took a long swig of his drink. “Well?” she asked after a moment. “What happened?”

He set his drink down, frowning at the table from a moment before beginning. “Lambert and I arrived here about a couple of weeks ago. We knew Geralt and Jaskier would only be a few more days but when they didn’t show after a week we knew something must have happened.”

He paused, running his finger over the grain in the table. “We overheard some Nilfgaardian soldiers passing through, bragging about capturing the white wolf.”

Yennefer felt Ciri tense up beside her. She put her arm around her shoulders and pulled her against her side, turning back to Eskel. “Go on,” she said, tamping down her own worry.

“Lambert and I managed to find out where they were camped, an old keep about two days’ ride from here. We killed them all and found Geralt and Jaskier in the dungeon. Geralt was mostly unharmed but..." he swallowed hard, "but Jaskier wasn’t so lucky.” He finally managed to tear his eyes away from the table to look up at Yennefer. “He’s alive but he’s badly hurt. He won’t make it up the mountain unless you can make a portal to Kaer Morhen.”

“Ciri,” the mage said turning to the poor girl who was now clinging to her side. “Listen to me, I need you to go back to our room and prepare the healing herbs like I showed you. Can you do that?”

She nodded before hurrying away to the small room they had rented above the tavern. It wasn’t much but a place like this didn’t have much to offer to begin with so she would take what she could get. She had no idea what state Jaskier could be in, but no doubt she would need the herbs to make him more comfortable at the very least.

She stood, gesturing for Eskel to follow. She walked around the back of the tavern, away from prying eyes. “Where are they now,” she asked.

“The woods, not far from the keep where we found them.”

“Too vague. Can you close your eyes and picture the keep for me?” It was more of a command than a question.

Eskel did as he was told, closing his eyes and focussing on what the keep looked like. It wasn’t too difficult since he and Lambert had spent a couple of hours watching it from the woods, figuring out the routes the guards took and estimating how many men were inside.

Yennefer took the images from his mind, using them to open a portal just in front of the gates. She stepped through, followed by Eskel. “Which way now?” she asked as the portal shimmered closed.

Without a word, Eskel led them deeper into the forest. After a while she could smell smoke and eventually they came across a small makeshift camp. Lambert must have heard them coming since he was standing ready with his steel sword drawn. He relaxed once he saw it was only them however and eagerly clapped his brother on the shoulder.

Yennefer ignored them, going instead to Geralt who had just got to his feet from where he had been sitting on the ground. “Yen,” he greeted, a strange, tight quality to his voice.

“Geralt,” she returned with a small smile she couldn’t quite hide. The relief of seeing Geralt whole and seemingly unharmed was short lived. There was a weak groan from behind him where she realised Jaskier was lying. Her stomach dropped as she finally saw him.

“Oh gods, Jaskier.” She moved past Geralt to kneel where he had just been. Jaskier was semi-conscious, soiled bandages covering his entire upper body. His face was a mess. One eye was swollen shut, his nose was crooked, and his cheeks were sunken from starvation. There was little skin left exposed but what she could see was covered in bruises and a sheen of sweat. She lay a palm on his forehead, feeling the unnatural heat of a fever burning him up from the inside. He groaned again at the contact, trying to turn his head away.

“We need to get him back to the village, now. Ciri’s already started preparing some herbs that could help him.”

The witchers immediately began packing up what little remained of their temporary camp and soon they were ready to go. Geralt carefully picked Jaskier up, holding him steady against his chest, ignoring the way he cried out at being moved. He was barely lucid, weakly struggling against the witcher, begging him not to hurt him.

Yennefer summoned another portal, opening where they had left at the back of the tavern. She allowed Geralt to go through first before the other two followed with the horses who required quite a lot of convincing to step through before finally she went through herself, letting it close behind her. Geralt had already disappeared inside and Eskel and Lambert were leading the horses to the stables.

Yennefer headed inside only to find Ciri pacing at the bottom of the stairs. “Ciri, what’s wrong?”

“Jaskier… he’s… I didn’t…” she stuttered, close to tears.

“Hush now,” Yen said, pulling her into a hug. “I’m going to make sure he’s as good as new in no time, just you see. The important thing is that he’s safe with us now.”

She wished she could stay and comfort her for longer, but she needed to see to Jaskier as soon as possible. Reluctantly she let her go. “Lambert and Eskel will be in shortly. I want you to stay down here with them, alright?” She waited for the girl to give her a nod before heading up the narrow stairs.

Geralt was inside the room with Jaskier who was now sitting on the bed propped up against Geralt as the witcher began the task of unwinding the grimy bandages. Yennefer could tell he was being uncooperative, no doubt in a great deal of pain and disoriented from his fever. Geralt looked up as she entered. “Is Ciri alright?” he asked.

“Just a little shaken, I think. I don’t think either of us were prepared for how bad it is.” Yennefer watched as he unwound the cloth from the bard’s chest. She could now see the extent of the damage, his skin mottled with bruising intersected with what looked to be calculated cuts, running parallel to each other in neat rows. She could only see the ones across his chest and down his sides currently but suspected there were more elsewhere.

Yennefer turned away from them as she began preparing a remedy for Jaskier’s fever. A minute passed in silence before Jaskier started groaning. Geralt tried to tell him to keep still but that only seemed to make things worse. She turned to find Jaskier weakly resisting Geralt’s attempts to calm him down and he only seemed to grow more agitated.

“Axii him, keep him calm.”

“No,” he growled. She knew he hated using that sign but there was little else that could be done.

“Either you do it or I will, but I need to concentrate on fixing him. He’s feverish, he doesn’t know what’s going on and he’ll only end up hurting himself more,” she snapped.

After a moment Geralt made the sign and Jaskier finally settled down. Geralt resumed unwinding the bandages, having a little more success in not causing more damage now the bard was pliant in his hands.

He was done by the time Yennefer had finished preparing the remedy. “Hold him still while I get him to drink this,” she said. Geralt did as he was told and held Jaskier steady, allowing Yennefer to carefully tip the herbal mixture into his mouth. He had enough awareness to swallow without needing to be persuaded.

“We need to clean the wounds,” Geralt said after lowering Jaskier down to lie on the bed.

“I know, we’ll get to that. What are the worst of his injuries?” Yennefer asked. She could use her magic to heal some of him now, but she would have to prioritise. His injuries were extensive, and she only had limited power.

“He’s got a few broken ribs here,” he said, pointing to Jaskier’s left side where she could see a large, dark bruise resembling a boot print. “He’s been struggling to breathe and it’s only getting worse.”

Yennefer didn’t wait for Geralt to continue his list. She ran her fingers over his too prominent ribs, feeling for the breaks. Jaskier tensed at her touch but axii kept him compliant. Sure enough, four of his ribs had been broken, the bones not quite sitting flush against each other. It must have been excruciating, feeling the bones grind with every breath.

Focussing her chaos, Yennefer channelled her energy into reknitting the bone together, coaxing them back into place with words of elder. It took several minutes but when she was done his ribs were as good as new. “He’ll still be sore for a while, but it shouldn’t cause him any more trouble,” she said as she sat back. “What else is there?”

“His back. He was whipped repeatedly. And… his hands. They broke all his fingers. His wounds are infected. I tried to do my best once we got out, but we had so few supplies…” he trailed off.

“You did the best you could,” she said, reaching out to place her hand on his knee. They sat in silence for a few minutes while Yennefer examined the rest of Jaskier’s injuries.

Unlike the rest of his body, his hands remained bandaged, only his fingertips visible outside of the cloth. She took his right hand in hers and slowly unwound the bandage. She couldn’t hold back the gasp of horror that escaped her. Each of his fingers had been broken, swollen and bent at unnatural angles. She knew without having to check that his left hand would look the same.

She went on to look at his back. Geralt helped her roll him onto his side. It was a mess, scabbed over and weeping wounds criss-crossing the expanse of skin in a macabre lattice. There was nowhere they could put their hands to support him without touching several of the cuts. Thankfully he still seemed too out of it from axii to pay too much attention, the only outward sign of pain being a few groans as they rolled him over.

She could see the extent of the infection now, several wounds leaking foul puss accompanied by an awful smell. There was no way he would survive if she didn’t do something about that soon, too far gone for non-magical means.

Yennefer had to take a moment to think things through. After ridding Jaskier of the infection, she wouldn’t have the strength to fix both his back and his hands. It wasn’t a simple choice of picking one over the other when either option had major consequences.

“Geralt… I can’t fix everything.”

“I know.”

“I need to get rid of his infection. It’s too widespread to be cured without magic. But I can’t fix his hands _and_ his back.”

Geralt only stared at her, trying to figure out what it was she wasn’t saying. She decided to put him out of his misery. “If I mend his fingers, I won’t be able to do anything about the wounds on his back beyond conventional methods. The scarring will be bad and he’ll likely have chronic pain from it. But if I fix his back, he won’t regain the full use of his hands.”

“He’ll never play again,” he said, finally filling in the gaps.

Yennefer only shook her head sadly. “I can’t make that choice. Jaskier’s still too out of it from fever to make the decision himself. It has to be you. You know him best.”

Silence fell again, tense and heavy as the witcher thought things over. “His hands. Save his hands Yen.”

“Alright. Help me clean his wounds. I want to get rid of this infection before the fever cooks his brain and its easier if he's clean before I begin.”

Geralt did as he was instructed, helping Yennefer wipe away old blood and salve, flushing out puss from where the infection was worst. It was unpleasant work and Geralt had to cast axii again to make Jaskier sleep through it, but it was worth it.

It was beginning to get dark when they finished. “You should go downstairs, get something to eat.”

“I want to stay.”

“There’s no need for you to be here and I need to concentrate. The last thing I need is you hovering around. Besides, Ciri and your brothers are downstairs, probably worried out of their minds.”

“Fine,” he said, reluctantly dragging himself to his feet.

“He’ll be okay, Geralt. He’s got us now.”

With a final look at the bard, he left, closing the door quietly behind him.

Yennefer waited until she heard his footsteps retreating down the stairs until she began her work. She began by making a poultice to help draw out the infection. She was almost glad for the repetitive work of grinding the herbs, allowing her to settle her mind before getting to work on Jaskier.

Of course, she could only put it off for so long. She covered the infected areas in the poultice and began chanting in elder. She guided her chaos through his broken body, drawing the infection out of his wounds and into the poultice. After what felt like an eternity, she let the spell go, satisfied she had done all she could on that front. She cleaned away the poultice, checking the state of his wounds. Assured the infection was gone she set about stitching the worst of the wounds while she waited for some of her strength to return.

The sheer number of cuts on his body was almost overwhelming. She couldn’t understand how he had endured such torture. He was only a bard after all. There was nothing special about him, no magic or powers, or even any particular skills other than his musical talent. And yet he had lived through weeks of horrific torture and still not given the Nilfgaardians what they wanted. She couldn’t help but be more than a little impressed.

With the last of the stitches on his back done, she took his right hand in hers. The bones were still crooked, not having been set by the witchers, no doubt for fear of making things worse. It would complicate things slightly but shouldn’t be too much trouble.

Making sure he was deeply asleep before beginning, she carefully manipulated the bones one by one until they were more or less aligned, ignoring the sickening crunching as she did so. A few had to be rebroken since they had started healing incorrectly. How long had it been since this had happened, she wondered? When she was ready, she took a steadying breath and repeated the spell she had used on his ribs. It was slow going, coaxing the fragile bones to reknit without any imperfections.

She repeated the process with his left hand, realigning the bones before healing them. Night had fallen properly outside by the time she finished, utterly drained of energy. She somehow managed to drag herself to her feet, making sure Jaskier was still comfortable before venturing downstairs for a hot meal.

“Yennefer…” Geralt greeted her as she approached the table they were all sat around. He and Ciri shuffled down the bench they were sitting on to make room for her.

“How is he?” Ciri asked before anyone else had a chance.

She gave her a tired smile. “He’ll be alright but he’s still going to need time to heal. He’s resting at the moment.”

“I’ll get you some food,” Eskel said, standing to head for the bar.

“Thank you.”

“His hands? Could you fix them?” Geralt asked.

Yennefer nodded. “Had to rebreak a few but the bones are as good as new. It’ll take a while for him to regain the use of them and they’ll still hurt for a while but there should be no lasting damage.”

There was a collective sigh of relief from around the table. It had clearly been weighing heavily on them. She just hoped it was the right decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may have messed up the timeline of this fic up a bit since it's been so long since I started this. Hopefully it makes sense but if not, don't think too hard about it...


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier finally wakes up in the inn. He and Geralt talk things over, Yennefer makes sure his hands are healing fine and Ciri gets hugs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not mean to leave this for so long. Motivation abandoned me then I had exams. Then I got fixated on writing something else instead of working on any of my current WIPs but here it is! The next chapter should be coming soon too!

Wakefulness came slowly to Jaskier. The world felt distant and fuzzy and for a moment everything was peaceful. Before he had even opened his eyes, he became aware of the fact that he was lying on his front on something soft, considerably different from the forest floor he last remembered. He tried to shift slightly to alleviate the pressure on his chest from lying in this position, but the events of the past few days slammed to the forefront of his mind with the sudden agony of the wounds on his back being disturbed.

Taken by surprise, he couldn’t contain the startled cry that escaped. He resisted the urge to curl up into a ball to escape the pain, knowing now that it would only make it worse.

“It’s alright, Jask. Just breathe through it,” came a familiar voice, rumbling from somewhere above him. He felt a warm hand rest on his upper arm, helping to ground him. After a few measured breaths, the pain finally lessened to a more manageable level. He blinked his eyes open and was met with the concerned face of the white haired witcher.

“Hey,” he mumbled into the pillow.

“Hey,” Geralt said back, the lines of worry on his face softening somewhat. “How do you feel?”

Jaskier took a moment to mentally assess himself. He felt much better than he last remembered, though he wasn’t entirely sure when that was. His chest ached but the agonising grinding of his broken ribs was now blissfully absent. His whole body hurt but it was dampened. He no longer felt like he was freezing but he wasn’t sure if that had been from being outside in early winter or from fever. Maybe both.

“Better, I think,” he said eventually. “Everything still hurts, but not as much I guess.”

Geralt nodded. “Do you need anything?”

Jaskier was quiet. Geralt could tell he wanted to ask something but seemed reluctant to do so. “There’s something, I can tell. Just tell me,” he said softly.

“Can- can you help me onto my side?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper. “My chest hurts lying like this.”

“Of course.”

With a bit of gentle manoeuvring, and a fair amount of holding in gasps of pain from Jaskier, Geralt managed to get Jaskier lying on his side. The change in position did help lessen the ache in his chest somewhat and he let out a careful sigh of relief.

“That better?” Geralt asked as he sat in a chair beside the bed.

Jaskier only hummed, still slightly winded from the pain.

“Yennefer managed to heal your ribs but did say they would be sore for a while.”

“Yen found us?”

Geralt shook his head slightly. “Eskel went ahead to find her and led her back to us. She then brought us here and healed… some of your wounds.”

“Some?”

Geralt’s face fell. Jaskier felt his stomach drop, though he wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t like he was worse off than he had been. He forced himself to keep quiet while he waited for Geralt to build up the courage to speak about whatever had happened.

“I don’t know how much you remember but when Eskel came back with Yen, you were in a pretty bad way,” he began. “Infection had taken hold, despite my best efforts to avoid it. You were burning up. Yennefer didn’t think you would survive if she didn’t cure it. Doing so left her… drained.

“She didn’t have enough energy to heal all your wounds. She’d already fixed your ribs but that left your back and your hands as the worst of it. She made me choose which to heal. I chose your hands.”

At his admission, Jaskier managed to lift one arm out from under the blankets to take a look. Sure enough, the bones were perfectly straight, no sign of the trauma he had experienced save for the faint half-healed bruising. He tried to flex his fingers but only managed to bend them slightly, shaky and weak as they were. Still, he was filled with a rush of relief.

Geralt’s voice snapped him back to the room. “Please forgive me if I made a mistake. I did what I thought was best but-”

“Stop, Geralt,” he cut him off, already knowing where this was heading. “You did the right thing. I would have done the same. So, thank you.” He tried to put as much sincerity as he could into his words, knowing Geralt wouldn’t believe him otherwise and would only continue to beat himself up about it.

Geralt allowed himself a small, cautious smile, clearly not entirely trusting that Jaskier wasn’t lying just to make him feel better.

Jaskier would have to set him straight eventually, but right now he didn’t have the energy for what could potentially turn into a verbal fight. Instead, he said, “I shall have to thank Yennefer too when I see her next.”

“I imagine that will be very soon. I have a feeling she already knows you’re awake and will likely want to check up on you. We can probably keep the others away for a while if you wanted to rest.”

“Ciri, is she here?”

Geralt nodded. “Do you want to see her?”

“Maybe later. How is she?”

“Worried about you but otherwise fine. She and Yen didn’t run into any trouble on their way here.”

Jaskier felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, tension that he had been carrying for weeks finally leaving him. “Good, that’s good to hear.”

Jaskier suddenly felt a new wave of exhaustion wash over him. Geralt must have noticed. “Get some rest, Jaskier. I can delay Yennefer for a while.”

Jaskier only hummed, his eyes already having closed of their own volition. Sleep swiftly claimed him once more.

* * *

It didn’t take long after Jaskier next woke up for Yennefer to descend on him. She insisted she had to check his back was healing well and that the infection hadn’t returned. She had needed some help from Geralt to get him sitting upright but between the three of them it was relatively painless. Jaskier hated it, feeling completely useless. The other two had tried to reassure him but it only made him feel worse.

Geralt had left swiftly after his job was completed, mainly because Yennefer shooed him out the door as soon as possible. She unwound the bandage around his middle first, casting her discerning gaze over the slowly healing lacerations on his back. Satisfied with the state of his back, she cleaned away the old salve before applying a fresh layer.

It was cool on his skin and Jaskier had to fight the urge to jerk away, knowing it would only make things worse. Yennefer must have added something new to this salve since after only a few minutes he felt a tingling numbness settle into his skin. It wasn’t particularly pleasant, but it certainly helped alleviate the pain, so he refrained from complaining.

Once a fresh bandage had been wound around his middle, the mage repeated the process on his arms. The cuts he could see appeared to be healing well. Only the worst had stitches in place, the others left to heal by themselves. They were scabby and gross looking but his experience with Geralt’s wounds told him not to worry. Yennefer seemed to agree, only needing to clean his arms and reapply the salve before wrapping them back up.

He assumed after all that she would leave but instead she took his right hand in hers and began gently prodding at it with hr thumbs. “May I ask what you’re doing?”

“Checking the bones healed right. I’d hate to have wasted my energy on something that didn’t work,” she said casually as she continued her examination. “Is there any pain?”

“No, just aches a bit.”

“Hmm. Can you make a fist?” she asked, moving her grip on him so she was loosely holding his wrist, cradling the back of his hand in her palm.

Jaskier tried his best to do as he was asked. His fingers shook as he tried to bend them, taking much more effort than it should to do even that simple movement. He only made it about a third of the way before he had to stop.

Yennefer didn’t say anything, simply laying his arm down to rest by his side before taking his left hand and repeating her examination. She asked him again to make a fist. but he didn’t get much further than he had with his right.

Frustration and hopelessness threatened to overtake him. His hands were physically fine, the bones had healed perfectly. And yet he couldn’t do anything with them.

“It’s alright, you know,” Yennefer said softly. Jaskier only gave a non-comital hum. “There was a lot of damage and your hands were left like that for weeks which is why they’re so weak. But it’s healed. Now you just need to regain the strength you had. It will take time, but you _will_ get there.”

“How?” he asked, feeling helpless. “You saw what little I could do. I shook so much, and I could barely move my fingers.”

“Honestly, it was more than I was hoping for. I can show you some exercises that will help but I want to leave it another few days for everything to settle first. Healing so rapidly puts a lot of strain on your body, hence the aching.”

“How long will it take?”

“Depends on if you listen to what I tell you. If you overdo it, you’ll only set yourself back. But it will take several months at least. I will do what I can to speed that up but it’s mostly down to you.”

Jaskier only nodded, staring down at his hands where they now rested in his lap. He knew even before they had been rescued that even if his hands could be fixed, there would be a long time for them to heal. He tried to remain positive, focussing on the fact that thanks to Yennefer, he could move his hands at all.

Yennefer seemed like she was about to say something but was interrupted by a timid knock at the door. Before waiting for a reply, the door was slowly pushed open and Ciri peeked her head around the corner.

“I told you to wait,” Yennefer admonished, though there was no heat to her words.

“Sorry, I- I’ll come back,” she said, already moving to leave.

“Nonsense,” Jaskier said, suddenly feeling a whole lot better at simply seeing the former princess. “Come in Ciri.”

“I’ll leave you two to it,” Yennefer said, getting up from where she sat. She briefly rested her hand on Ciri’s shoulder as she passed her before closing the door. Ciri wasted no time in sitting in the chair Yennefer had previously been occupying.

“It’s good to see you princess,” Jaskier began with a fond smile. He noted Ciri’s unusual quietness. Normally the girl was practically bubbling with energy, but she seemed subdued. He had a feeling he was the likely cause in her change in mood.

“It’s good to see you too,” she said with a small smile of her own.

“How have you been? Has Yen taught you how to control minds yet?” he asked, aiming for light-hearted and apparently succeeding when Ciri gave an amused huff.

“Not yet. She’s mostly been focussing on herbs. Which ones to use for which spells and… and healing,” she stuttered at the end. Her gaze dropped to her lap where she was not so subtly wringing her hands.

“Ciri, look at me,” he said gently. Hesitantly, she did as she was asked, only making eye contact for a second before looking elsewhere again. Jaskier wished he had the mobility to reach out and take her hands in his, but he knew it would only cause his stitches to pull and he hardly had the ability to twitch his fingers. “Tell me what’s wrong my dear.”

“I… it’s…” she began, unable to find the words. “It’s all my fault.”

“What is?”

“This!” she said, gesturing to the bandages covering Jaskier’s upper half. “This wouldn’t have happened if Nilfgaard wasn’t still after me.” She sniffed and Jaskier realised she was trying her best to hold back tears.

“Oh, no, come here,” he said softly, lifting his arms as much as he could manage in an invitation for a hug. She hesitated for only a second before shifting to sit on the edge of the bed, carefully wrapping her arms around his neck. He rested his arms on her back and pulled her in close, ignoring the discomfort it caused.

They both needed this. Ciri let her tears flow freely, no longer able to hold them back. Jaskier simply held her, taking in the weight of her body against his own, physical proof that she was here and safe. He didn’t know how long they sat like that but eventually Ciri’s tears stopped. She pulled back but kept one hand resting on his arm, wiping her tears away with the other.

It was Ciri who spoke first. “I was so scared when Geralt brought you in,” she said, barely more than a whisper. “I thought you were going to die. And it would all be my fault.”

“No, Ciri, you can’t blame yourself for this. This has nothing to do with you,” he said firmly.

“But it does! If they weren’t looking for me, they wouldn’t have captured you and Geralt. None of this would have happened.”

Jaskier shook his head. “It’s not your fault that they’re after you, you hear me. You cannot blame yourself for things beyond your control.” He placed his left hand over hers where it was resting on his arm, wishing he could give her a reassuring squeeze, but he simply lacked the strength for that.

“I could have made it stop at any time but I didn’t. Because you are so much more important than I am. And I would do it all again if it meant you were safe.”

“What if I don’t want you to.”

“I’m afraid that’s out of your control as well,” he said gently. “Every single one of us would gladly give our lives if it meant keeping you safe.”

“I don’t want anyone to get hurt because of me,” she said, barely more than a whisper.

“I know. But we wouldn’t be able to live with ourselves if anything happened to you.”

Ciri’s words seemed to abandon her, more tears springing to her eyes. Jaskier invited her in for another hug which she gratefully accepted. She lay on the narrow bed beside him, one arm resting across his middle as she cried.

Jaskier gently rubbed soothing circles on her back with the side of his hand. It was about all he could manage but the young girl seemed to appreciate it nonetheless. Eventually the tears stopped and Jaskier realised she had fallen asleep. Unwilling to disturb her, he too closed his eyes and allowed himself to sleep, knowing she was safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has left a comment and reminded me that there are still people who are reading this. It means a lot to me!
> 
> I haven't proofread this properly so apologies for any mistakes.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A difficult decision must be made. Do they stay in the foothills, sitting ducks for Nilfgaard who must surely be on their way, or do they attempt the perilous journey up to Kaer Morhen before the pass becomes blocked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still don't really know how to write Eskel and Lambert. Also, describing what people are doing and keeping track of it is hard. I tried my best so hopefully there isn't anything completely confusing still left in there (I had to write certain bits so many times lmao).
> 
> There may be some minor spelling errors but I've been sitting at my desk trying to read thorugh this for an hour so any left in are just gonna have to stay there for now.

Dark clouds were gathering in the west. The wind howled outside, rattling the tavern door with every gust. Heavy snow was coming, and with it, the threat of being blocked off from Kaer Morhen. Geralt could tell his brothers knew this too, a nervous energy settling uneasy between the three of them where they sat in the tavern.

Under ideal circumstances, they would have left at least a week ago, giving them plenty of time to reach the keep before the first heavy snow. Obviously, that hadn’t happened. Now they were stuck in the foothills with only a day to get home before the pass became totally blocked off. Maybe two if they were lucky.

“We need to go soon, Geralt,” Eskel said, breaking the silence that seemed to cling to the air around them.

“We can’t,” he said with a shake of his head.

“We have to,” Eskel said, “otherwise we’ll be stuck down here all winter.”

“Jaskier can barely sit upright on his own, let alone make the journey up to the keep.”

“What about Yennefer’s fancy portals?” Lambert piped in, wiggling his fingers in an imitation of casting a spell. “She can just drop us at the front gates.”

The older witchers shook their heads. “It’s not that simple,” Eskel said. “There are wards around Kaer Morhen. They’re about as old as the keep itself, specifically designed to keep mages and other magic users out.”

“How come I’ve never heard of these wards then?” the younger witcher asked, crossing his arms over his chest and raising an eyebrow.

“I guess you’re too young to have heard about them. It’s not really something we’re taught. I just happened to have some trouble with them one time and told Geralt about it after.”

“Figures. Nothing’s ever that simple.” Lambert grumbled, taking a sip of his ale.

Eskel turned back to Geralt. “You know we need to go. If it were just us three then we could stay, find some work over the winter. But it’s too dangerous for Ciri. Nilfgaard probably know where we’re heading. Melitele knows how long it’ll take them to get here, but they will.”

Geralt knew he was right of course. They weren’t safe and their money would quickly run out. The village was small and work likely non-existant this time of year. “Alright. But we’ll have to convince Yennefer first.”

* * *

Somehow, they managed to squeeze three witchers, a mage, a princess and an injured bard into one tiny room. It was a tight fit but the witchers had decided everyone needed to be here for this discussion. Ciri sat with Jaskier on the bed, Yennefer standing beside them and fixing the three men stood opposite her with a glare, as though daring them to say something stupid.

“Well,” Yennefer began, “what’s so important that we all have to be here?”

“We need to leave for Kaer Morhen soon. Today, ideally,” Eskel said.

Yennefer laughed. “Today? You’ve got to be joking.”

“Unfortunately not. There’s a storm coming and there’s a good chance it’ll block the way up to the keep.”

“In case you’ve forgotten, Eskel, I can create portals. We can leave whenever.”

“You can’t create a portal directly to the keep,” Geralt said, jumping in to save his brother from being torn to pieces by the mage. “No one can. There are wards in place to prevent portals. Closest you can get is about a day’s ride away.”

Yennefer’s expression morphed from one of irritation to concern. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Eskel said. “One winter I was too far from Kaer Morhen to get back before the snow blocked the way, so I hired a mage to get me there. He dropped me somewhere on the pass in the middle of the night, saying something about wards. I asked Vesemir about it when I finally reached the keep. He told me about them and he would have no reason to lie to me.”

“Shit,” she said, summing up their situation neatly with a single word.

“I can travel, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Jaskier said. He’d been uncharacteristically quiet so far, not that anyone could really blame him.

Yennefer glared at him. “No, you can’t.”

“Says who.”

“Says me. Now be quiet.”

“Yen, we don’t exactly have much of a choice,” he sighed.

“I said-”

“He’s right though,” Lambert said, looking ever so slightly smug. He regretted his decision to speak up as soon as she fixed her gaze on him, effectively pinning him in place with just a look. He shrank back against the wall, trying to hide in the tiny room. Geralt thought it was amusing, seeing his younger brother squirm at just a look.

“Yen,” Jaskier said, “we can’t stay here.”

“And you can’t travel.”

“I’m sure I can manage to sit on a horse for a day.”

Yennefer was quiet in thought for a moment. “How about you three take Ciri while Jaskier and I stay behind. You’ll be safe in the keep.”

“I’m not going to leave anyone behind,” Geralt growled, his good mood at his brother's antics evaporating instantly. “Nilfgaard will be coming for us. You can’t hold off an entire army Yen. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if something were to happen to either of you. Not again.” He glancced at Jaskier as he said the last bit, the guilt over what had already passed clear in his eyes.

Yennefer went quiet, unable to come up with a counter argument to that.

“So, it’s settled then,” Jaskier said brightly, trying his best to cover up the tremble in his voice. “We’re going to Kaer Morhen.”

* * *

Packing their few belongings onto the horses was a quick affair. They were all used to having to go on the run at a moment's notice. Within the hour everything was ready. They had agreed Jaskier would ride Roach and Ciri would ride Yennefer’s horse, which left only two horses to carry the bulk of their belongings. Geralt helped Jaskier get ready once Roach was ready in her tack, not wanting the bard to be waiting outside for any longer than necessary. He sat him up and helped him into several layers of the warmest clothes he had. The last thing they needed was for Jaskier to get hypothermia on top of everything else. It was difficult with Jaskier's limited mobility but they made it work relatively painlessly. Once that was done, they were ready to leave.

Getting Jaskier outside was the hardest part. Carrying the bard was no trouble for Geralt since he hardly weighed anything. For Jaskier it was a painful experience. There was no way for Geralt to hold him that didn't cause pain, the entirety of his back a mess of torn flesh, to say nothing of the rest of his bruised and battered body. He kept his teeth clenched to prevent himself from crying out. The last thing he wanted was Geralt to stop moving to ask if he was alright as he carried him down the stairs and outside to the waiting horses.

Geralt could see how much effort it was taking Jaskier to keep quiet, could see the tears forming in his eyes while he tried to hide his face in Geralt's shoulder. He hated that he had to cause his friend more pain, but it was necessary. They had to go now or else they would be trapped down here with nowhere safe to go.

Geralt sat Jaskier down on the low wall outside the stables while he went to retieve Roach. While he was waiting, Jaksier soon began to feel the effects of the cold. He was already wearing multiple layers but his clothes were woefully unsuitable for such freezing temperatures. Usually it wouldn't be too bad since he would be walking but he would be sitting down the entire journey. That on top of the weight he had lost made even the slightest breeze feel like icy daggers tearing at his skin.

Geralt noticed his shivering when he returned with the mare. “You alright Jask?” he asked.

“Mm, bit cold,” he said, failing to supress the shivers that wracked his body, crossing his arms tighter to try and keep himself warm.

Geralt took off his heavy woollen cloak, wrapping it around Jaskier’s shoulders and pulling it tight. It was still warm from the witcher’s body and he couldn’t help but bury his cold face in it a little.

“Won’t you get cold?” he mumbled through the fabric.

“I’ll be walking. Beside, witchers don’t feel the cold the same way humans do.”

Jaskier couldn't bring himself to argue. He knew the cold didn't affect Geralt like it did ordinary men. There were extra blankets in their packs if things got truely desperate anyway.

Getting Jaskier on Roach was a difficult task. He couldn't pull himself up into the saddle so Geralt and Eskel ended up having to do most of the work in getting him up. Jaskier hated it. He was useless, too weak to help and unable to even grip anything. He had to rely on the two witchers to basically manoeuvre his limbs into position and make sure he didn't fall. On top of that was the pain that raced through him with every movement. It was unavoidable unfortunately, and knowing this he bit his tongue and kept the pain and frustration bottled up. It wasn't anyone's fault they had to leave immediately.

“Are we ready?” Yennefer asked when he was finally settled.

“All set,” Eskel said.

“Good.” She turned her back to the waiting group and began summoning a portal. She would try to get it as close to the keep as possible that that would first require finding the limit of the ward, starting in the keep itself and working outward until there was no more resistance. If she got it wrong the ward could reflect the portal and they could end up somewhere else entirely. Yennefer only had the energy for one attempt so she had to get this right.

The portal shimmered to life in front of them, taking shape out of thin air. The witcher’s horses were unsettled by the portal, no doubt remembering the last time they had gone through. Yennefer's horse seemed unfazed. One by one they went through. Eskel and Scorpion first, followed by Lambert and his gelding. Ciri was next and then it was Geralt leading Roach and Jaskier.

The drop in temperature was instant, the snow reducing visibility and wind howling in their ears, near deafening. Jaskier shivered, the movement aggrivating his injuries and causing him to suck in a sharp breath. Geralt seemed unbothered by the snow, leading them away from the portal as Yennefer stepped through at last, letting it snap shut behind her.

Geralt looked back at the bard huddled in his cloak. “Are you still alright?”

“Just a bit cold. I’ll be fine,” he said before burying his nose in the cloak.

* * *

The first couple of hours were uncomfortable but bearable. Occasional shivers sent spikes of pain through Jaskier’s body whenever a particularly strong gust of wind penetrated the cloak. It was damp with snow by now but that didn’t hamper its ability to keep him warm.

The simple act of remaining upright in the saddle was draining. He had known it would be difficult with his injuries, but he hadn’t anticipated the constant intense aching, made worse by the shivering. He had quickly decided to conserve his little remaining energy and simply sat huddled in the witcher’s cloak silently.

They didn’t stop for a break at any point, having to keep going for lack of a safe place to do so and the threat of the fading light. Food was passed out a few hours into their jounrey. Geralt offered some bread to the bard but he declined, not having much of an appetite.

“You need to eat. It will help.”

Reluctantly Jaskier nodded, too exhausted for words. Geralt ripped a bite-sized piece off the hunk of bread, holding it up for the bard. Jaskier somewhat reluctantly snaked his arm out from under the cloak so that Geralt could put it on his palm, unable to take it off him himself.

The air was freezing on his skin, so he made quick work of getting the bread in his mouth before pulling his hand back under the cloak. The bread was soft, a nice change from the usually half-stale loaves they travelled with. Geralt held up another piece for him to take and reluctantly he did.

Geralt had been right about the food making him feel better, despite how cold his arm was now. He felt a little more awake, though it did nothing for the pain.

* * *

It was getting to be too much. Jaskier’s warm little nest in Geralt’s cloak had steadily been losing heat and now he was constantly shivering. Geralt must have noticed since kept glancing back at him, concern written plain as day in his features. He had stopped bothering to ask if Jaskier was alright when the bard kept insisting he was fine. They both knew he wasn’t.

They were still hours away from Kaer Morhen and Jaskier honestly wasn’t sure if was going to make it. The only thing keeping him upright was the knowledge that everything would hurt so much more if he sagged forward and he didn't particularly fancy falling off Roach. That didn’t make it easy, however. He would begin to drift to sleep, exhaustion pulling his eyes closed, only to jolt awake when he started to tip forward. The third time it happened, he couldn’t stifle the pained cry that escaped.

Geralt was by his side in an instant, pulling Roach to a halt. “Jaskier, what’s wrong?”

Jaskier could only shake his head, fighting back tears of pain and frustration.

“Fine, we’re stopping. There’s a cave not too far.”

“No,” he gasped out, barely audible above the wind. “I can keep going.”

“No, you can’t. You’re freezing, exhausted and hurting and you look like you’re about to fall off Roach at any moment. We'll have to stop in a couple of hours anyway.” He turned and walked away, telling the others what he wanted to do. Jaskier couldn’t quite summon the energy to be angry. The witcher was right on all counts of course.

The cave wasn’t far, as promised. There were signs of other people staying here before, no doubt used by witchers on their way home for centuries. There was a shallow pit near the back, blackened with ash and a small stack of wood piled up nearby, covered by a tarp to keep the worst of the damp out. There was just enough room for everyone and the horses.

Eskel wasted no time in setting up a fire while the others saw to the horses or set up bedrolls, despite sunset still being a couple of hours away. Geralt had to pull Jaskier down from Roach’s back rather inelegantly. Despite being as gentle as he could about it, the movement still caused Jaskier to cry out from the pain.

The witcher carried him bridal style over to the small fire. He lay him down on his side on the bedroll Yennefer had already rolled out for him, removing his sodden cloak and the damp layers underneath.

It soon became apparent to Geralt that the bard was hypothermic, his shivering constant and his skin icy to the touch. They seemed to have caught it early at least since he was still shivering and mostly lucid. “Ciri, get me a blanket. I need to get him warm.”

“M’fine,” Jaskier mumbled, struggling to keep his eyes open now that he no longer had to stay awake.

Ciri returned with a blanket that had been stowed at the bottom of one of the packs to keep it dry. Geralt wrapped it around him, careful not to touch his injuries. Jaskier continued to shiver but sighed with relief when the cold air no longer touched his skin.

He dozed fitfully, gradually warming up by the fire. He hurt all over, the pain made worse by the tremors that wracked his body. He let his mind drift, focussing on the sounds of movement around him. He could hear low voices talking but in his half-awake state, he couldn’t be sure what they were talking about.

A warm hand on his shoulder roused him some indeterminable time later. He blinked his eyes open, blearily looking around the cave. The sky outside was a deep shade of blue, steadily growing darker. The only source of light now was the fire, bathing everything in an orange glow.

“Food’s ready,” Geralt said.

“Mmph,” was all Jaskier managed to say. He only wanted to go back to sleep.

“Come on.” Geralt helped to get him upright, having to move the blanket aside to get a decent hold on him. Jaskier belatedly realised he was wearing two shirts, one his own and the other he knew belonged to Geralt. He was grateful for the extra layer in the cool air of the cave now the blanket had been removed. The fire may have been burning bright but there was still a cold draft from outside preventing the space from being truely warm.

A little more awake now, he saw the others sitting around the fire, already eating whatever had been cooked up. Geralt sat behind him, letting him rest against his chest. The pressure on his torn back was unpleasant but he knew he wouldn’t be able to sit up unassisted.

Yennefer passed Geralt a bowl of what Jaskier assumed to be stew. The smell was enough to make his stomach growl and he realised he was starving. Geralt got some stew on the spoon, holding it up for Jaskier. The bard was still too tired to complain about being spoon fed like an infant and accepted the stew without a sound.

Once the bowl was empty, Yennefer insisted on checking on him to make sure he hadn’t torn any stitches. She didn’t remove the bandages, but she made sure they were dry and clean still. Satisfied he hadn’t undone her careful needlework by tearing anything, she made sure he wasn’t becoming ill again and that he had recovered from the hypothermia.

“I knew this was a bad idea,” he heard her mutter under her breath.

“We’d be stuck down there all winter,” he mumbled.

She shot a warning glare at him. “Tomorrow when we set out again, promise me you’ll let Geralt know if things get this bad again. You don’t have to suffer when we can do something about it.”

“Alright,” he agreed, not really wanting to go through another day like this any time soon.

* * *

It didn’t take long for everyone to settle down for the night. Everyone was tired from the day’s trek, including the witchers. Jaskier was still exhausted but now he was feeling at least marginally better than before, the pain radiating across his body was keeping him awake.

Before he had been exhausted and half-frozen enough to mostly ignore it, but now he had food in his belly and had manage to catch some fitful rest earlier, he lay awake on his side staring at the fire. He wanted to shift into a more comfortable position, but every slight movement sent waves of pain rolling through him. The ground was too hard for him to get comfortable in any position really. Sleeping on hard ground wasn't unfamiliar to him but he had lost the padding of muscle and fat that made it bearable. Now he wouldn't be surprised if he woke up with fresh bruises all down his side.

After what felt like an hour of just lying there, wide awake but exhausted, he realised there were silent tears running down his face. He sniffed, willing them to go away. He felt utterly useless, all his frustrations finally catching up to him.

“Jaskier?” he heard Geralt whisper from somewhere behind him. Jaskier tried his best to appear asleep but he knew there was no fooling the witcher. There was the sound of a blanket being shifted before a familiar warm hand rested against his shoulder. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Jaskier sniffed again as a renewed wave of tears rolled down his face. He tried to hide his face in his makeshift pillow, wanting to be left alone to his misery. “’s nothing. I’m fine.”

“Well, you’ve sure got a funny way of showing it,” he said, moving to sit so he was in Jaskier’s line of sight. “Come on, what it is? I want to help.”

“I can’t sleep,” the bard said, feeling foolish. “It hurts too much.”

Geralt sat silently in thought, trying to come up with something to help. “I have an idea,” he said after a moment, getting up and moving back out of view. There was the sound of something being dragged across the floor. Jaskier didn’t know what Geralt was doing until he came back into view, dragging his bedroll so it lay next to his. Geralt lay down, shuffling close to Jaskier before shifting the bard so that he was lying on his front across Geralt’s chest, his head resting below his chin. The witcher was considerably more comfortable to lie on than the floor and had the added bonus of being warm.

“Is that better?” Geralt asked, wrapping his arm around his, resting his hand on his lower back where there were fewer injuries.

Jaskier tiredly nodded. The pain had subsided to the dull ache he was now so familiar with. His tears had stopped and he finally felt like he could relax. He ignored the fact that he was now basically lying on top of his best friend and simply let himself succumb to sleep.

Only once Geralt was sure the bard was asleep did he do the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entirely happy with this chapter but I hope it was okay. 
> 
> I'm planning on having two more chapters after this. Can't promise when they'll get written but I will finish this fic!

**Author's Note:**

> I plan to write a second chapter with some comfort and recovery because I think Jaskier deserves it after what I just put him through.
> 
> I've never written Eskel or Lambert before and they're largely based on their game versions so I hope I did okay.
> 
> Come say hi to me on [tumblr!](https://blaidd-gwyn.tumblr.com/)


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